She had passed a sleepless night and had risen early, but the knock came late in the morning.

She opened the door.

Without stood a ten year old girl, of the most bewitching beauty, as barely clad as ever the children of her blood went over the green meadows of Achaia.  Her golden hair was knotted on the back of her pretty head and held in place by an ampyx.  On her feet were tiny sheepskin buskins; about her perfect little body, worn carelessly, was a simple chiton, out of which her dimpled shoulders and small round arms showed pink and tender as field-flowers.  Nothing could have been more composed than her gaze at Laodice.

“We breakfast in the hall, now.  You are to join us,” she said.

Laodice stepped, out of the chamber into the court and followed her little guide.

“The mistress and her guests rise late,” the child went on.  “That perforce starves the rest of us until mid-morning.  Eheu!  It is the one injustice in this house.”

Laodice dumbly wondered if she were to be classed with the house servants while she waited until the return of her devoted old mute.

She was led into a long narrow room, showing the same simple elegance that marked all the house of Amaryllis, the Greek.  Down the center were two tables, separated by a cluster of tall plants that almost screened one from the other.

At the first table place was laid for one.  At the other, she found by the talk and laughter the rest of the company were gathered.  The little girl led Laodice to the single place, seated her, and kissing her hand to her with an almost too-practised bow, fled around the cluster of tall plants.  There she heard her childish voice imperiously ordering a servant to attend the mistress’ latest guest.

Prisca appeared and silently served Laodice with melon, honey-cakes and milk.  Other of the house-servants were visible from time to time.  This, then, manifestly was not the breakfast of the menials.  She glanced toward the cluster of tall plants.  Through an interstice she was able to see all the persons seated at the other table.

There first was the blue-eyed, golden-haired girl.  Beside her was a youth, slim, dark, exquisitely fashioned, with limbs and arms as strong as were ever displayed in the games, yet powerful without brutality, graceful without weakness—­marks of the ideal athlete that had long since disappeared with the coming of the Roman gladiator.  Opposite was a grown man, tall, broad and deep chested, with prominent eyes wide apart and a large mouth.  There was a singleness of attitude in him, as in all persons reared to a purpose.  It was that certain self-centeredness which is not egotism, yet a subconsciousness of self in all acts.  He was the finished product of a specific, life-long training, and the confidence in his atmosphere was the confidence of one aware of his skill and prepared at all times.

Besides these three, there were two women, both in the garments of the ancient atelier.  One was bemarked with clay; the other was stained with paint.  Laodice knew at a glance that she looked at a gathering of artists.